


Final credits

by telemachus



Series: Chasing Cars [9]
Category: Pride (2014), Queer as Folk (UK)
Genre: Discussion of movie, International Fanworks Day 2016, Longing, M/M, Post qaf canon, Pretty Jeff, Requited Love, Stuart just still can't say, Unrequited Love, Vince likes short charismatic dark-eyed Irishmen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 18:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6020476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reactions to a film.....</p><p>Just a quick something for international fanworks day.</p><p> </p><p>(Timeline - this actually fits inside 'Sitting Like Piffey', but written & posted while i was still working on that one. It's a separate one-shot, so it doesn't matter if you haven't/don't read that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Final credits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GillNotJill (Wynja2007)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/gifts).



> Because I can't see how else to crossover these two....

Final credits rolling, the banner fades from the screen, the music continues but Stuart stands, slinking into his jacket as he speaks,

"Yeah, that was alright. Good pick. Nice, feel-good stuff. Bugger the miners, we got the age of consent changed. I'd've liked to see a bit more of that whatsisface, Jeff - Freddie what'sit - with his kit off, but there you go. I like a pretty young blond - " realises the expected response is missing, "oh, come on, Vince, you're not still sulking about Nathan the chicken from hell are you? Fourteen fucking years ago -" looks more closely and reaches down, pulls Vince to his feet, "fucks sake, twat, are you - you bloody are, you're crying. Why -? Oh. The sexy old guy," and somewhere at the back of both their minds it registers that the Jonathan Blake on the screen is significantly younger than they are now, "shit, Vince, you're such a lesbian sometimes. He's still alive, whoopy fucking do. Been a better film if we'd seen him actually shag his boyfriend with their kinky toys -" 

But for once, for once Vince isn't listening, isn't following Stuart's lead in mood, even as he follows him out of the cinema.

"Twenty-six," he says, "Jesus. Twenty-six. And what the fuck were we doing in 1983, 84?" 

Stuart shrugs, 

"Dunno about you," he deadpans, "but if I'd spent my first winter in Manchester campaigning with socialists and queers, I'd have been shipped back to Catholic Ireland pretty damn quick."

"Yeah, s'pose," then, "twenty-six though."

Stuart shrugs again, it's not as though they don't both know enough men who've died, no need to take on more misery.

"Low blood sugar," he says, "that's your trouble. Should have had popcorn. Come on, chips. That or it's too long since you've had a shag. Chips, then that club. If you can't find someone on grindr, that is."

Vince follows silently.

Until, even as he steadily eats Vince's chips, Stuart begins scrolling through grindr's offerings, commenting helpfully on those he thinks are 'achievable goals'.

"Twenty-six," Vince says again, and then, can't stop himself, "d'you think Mike ever told him? Like, ever? Right at the end? When it couldn't matter anymore? D'you reckon it'd be OK if he said it then? Like - would it be something Mark'd want to know? Or would that just be worse? Make it more of a waste?"

Stops, looking at his feet as though they need careful guidance on the pavement.

As the city laughs and shouts and streams round them, there is a moment when Vince can't quite breathe, can't quite believe that after so long he could be so stupid.

Slowly and deliberately Stuart licks the salt off his fingers, pushing his phone into his pocket. Puts his arm round Vince's shoulders,

"No, not him. No guts," and then in that way he has, that way of changing so that just as you think I hate you, you bastard, how can you hurt me like that, you remember just why you love him so bloody much, he stops them right there in the street and, "but that doesn't mean Mark didn't know. Relied on him. And Vince, don't call it a waste. Whether they shagged or not, all that - friends, mates, following him like a bloody spaniel - you could see it wasn't a waste. Meant everything, to both of them."

And, not for the first time, Vince longs for the courage to - to what? Look up, meet Stuart's eyes, say something, anything.

Swallows.

Blinks.

Bites his lip and breathes.

Tries to think what to do, say.

Looks straight ahead, turns - in time to see Stuart catch the eye of a man, any man, just some man, nothing special; in time to feel the pat on the shoulder as he takes his arm away, to hear the "looks like i'll be late, don't put the chain on the door," as he walks into the night.

Watches the walk, the wonderful, enticing, dancing walk. 

Thirty years, he thinks, thirty fucking years near enough - thirty non-fucking years.

Remembers another line.

"Nothing worse than a lost cause," he mutters, and sighs.


End file.
